Good-bye to 1407 Alamo

We went to San Marcos yesterday, the 4th, to hang out at my childhood home for the last time. My parents' house finally sold, and they're moving to San Antonio. My dad is the choir director at Alamo Heights High School, and my little brother will be a senior there next year. They're been commuting (ugh) for three years. They have to be out of their house by July 16 and they haven't started packing yet (and my dad will be out of town this coming week and then we have a family reunion next weekend in Salado). In other words, their life is crazy. But it's always crazy, frankly.

I can't comprehend that they will no longer be at 1407 Alamo, and therefore I don't feel hysterically upset about it. They bought the house in March of 1986, fifteen months after they got married. I was eight years old when we moved in. So of course part of me is sad and freaked out at the thought that we'll never be going back to that house, and someone else will be living there, and we'll be visiting my parents in a new setting, forming new habits and traditions. It's strange. But it's time. The house on Alamo is pretty crappy. My parents have been sharing a tiny, gross bathroom for 22 years, and an equally small bedroom closet. They deserve better, and I wish they'd had it sooner. They've fallen in love with this one house in San Antonio and they made an offer on it today, so fingers crossed.

In the meantime, farewell 1407 Alamo . . . I'll miss your familiarity. I have about a million memories in and around that house. Fighting with my blended family, sneaking out during slumber parties, being grounded, kissing a boy for the first time, getting my own phone (the kind that you could see through), family dinners and holidays, playing with my baby brother . . . the list goes on. Everything happened there.

Here're E with his Grandma and Pops, swimming in the backyard pool for the first and last time. It was fun.